


Ages Of You

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and Glorfindel have a little adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ages Of You

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** Many thanks to half_elf_lost. You rock! All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This was written as a response to a challenge JavaGreen posted at the Elrond/Gil-galad Lovers group, who asked for Gil-Galad and Elrond involved in a fic (any length) with a snowstorm, a chase, an injury, a tattoo, red silk, an apologetic Glorfindel. Elrond's line in the fourth segment is an haiku by Izumi Shikibu issued as challenge in monday_smut.
> 
>  **Prompts:** fanfic100 prompt 070: storm. monday_smut challenge B september 2006: "Another Kiss" lyrics.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Lindon, 1595 Second Age**

Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, had been pacing the room for hours, a bad sign if there had ever been one. It had been an unproductive day and few other things annoyed the king as much as a wasted day. However, he could not concentrate on his work. His councillors' words ran like dry sand through his ears, creating a formless pile at the bottom of his mind. Holding his hands behind his back in a tight knot, he walked to the window, certain that he had worn a trail in the rug. The heavy grey skies suggested snow before nightfall, but there was no sign of Elrond or his party in the miles his eyes could reach.

Elrond was wise enough to know danger, but Gil-galad worried - even the wisest are prey to the whims of fortune. A part of him admitted a simple truth: beyond the natural worry a person should feel for a loved one, lay black, treacherous jealousy in the ruining of this day.

Gil-galad had found himself in a familiar trap which no matter how cunning he tried to be always caught him. To send out his herald he had to provide him with a proper escort. Any high-ranking soldiers would have been fine choices, but Glorfindel had made a point, as always, of volunteering to accompany Elrond. He had offered sensible motives that Gil-galad could not dismiss without sounding like an irrational despot or a ridicule lover.

Many times had he tried resorting to scheme to avoid Glorfindel's meddlesome offers, but the blond always seemed to outwit him with his big blue eyes and charming smile that everyone else seemed to think were innocent and kind. Maybe they were in regard to others, but Gil-galad could see desire in the wake of Glorfindel's stare upon Elrond.

"My Lord..." the scribe called.

Gil-galad faced him with an inquiring eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"The tax law revision for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain is ready for your reading..."

Gil-galad wondered how many times the scribe had tried to tell him. "Leave it on the desk," he said absently. He doubted he would manage to understand a single word while Elrond was on the road with Glorfindel under that weather.

His councillor for metal taxing continued the monologue. Surely he could not be so dense that he would not realise Gil-galad heard little, but he persisted. Gil-galad cursed inwardly. Elrond should have arrived from his mission to the Falas by early afternoon. One of Elrond's great qualities was his punctuality and if the Peredhel said that he would arrive the afternoon of the eighth day, he would. Why then was it almost sundown and no sign of the party had reached them?

There was still an hour before sundown; it would be dark soon. "Enough for today!" Gil-galad ordered on impulse. Leaving his office in haste, he ordered a page to send word to the stables and to one of his captains. He ran to his chambers to change from office robes to riding clothes and in minutes he was on a horse, followed by a company, heading for the northwest road.

The sky was dark now, and the first flakes danced in the air. It was silly to expect they would meet Elrond's group this afternoon, and it was reckless to leave for the night in such haste, with little provisions and dreadful weather around them. He was in the heart of his realm, but a deep feeling of foreboding made him regret leaving Aeglos home.

* * *

Elrond cleared his eyes with his forearm. The snow was falling heavier, sticking to his lashes, but under his clothes, he was sweating. He regretted not sending word to Lindon before embarking on the wild-goose chase that had lead him from his path by several miles, but now it was too late. Night was falling and if indeed a patrol of renegade Orcs was loose in the heart of Eregion, it was not the best idea to send a messenger alone through the roads.

Beside him, Glorfindel looked grim. It was not easy to erase the smile from his friend's face, but today they had nothing to smile about. When they first found the tracks his heart had clenched, but he had rationalized, telling himself that it was impossible. Orcs less than ten miles from Lindon? Clearly impossible. But they had made a good journey and were ahead of schedule. It had been easy for Glorfindel to persuade them to personally check the tracks instead of sending troops later.

It had not been long before they had found the village. He had travelled that road several times before, but he had seldom noticed it, so small and entered by a side road. The Orcs had ravaged it for food, that much was clear. From the dozen or so houses, only two stood unburned. A hasty job. They searched for survivors but it appeared that most had escaped to the woods. Elrond prayed that they had made it to the larger neighbouring village. The damage suggested that the Orc company was small.

Elrond looked up and around, judging the heavy sky, the damage, the potential threats...he knew he had no choice. His men awaited orders and he gave them.

"We ride back to Eredhon to warn them and aid them if needed. Then we'll track them down and end their days." There was no time to bury the dead.

Their race against time had begun there. Eredhon's doors were closed. A few Orc carcasses littered the ground, but Elrond knew too well that they were a mere part of the Orc company. The villagers could not tell in which direction the Orcs had gone. They had lost almost an hour tracking the mess in the ground before they found two escape routes. Their party was too small to divide and despite their goodwill, it was unthinkable to take the offers of help from the villagers who were farmers, not warriors. Elrond decided to chase after what seemed to be the larger group.

They went on for hours, tracking clues that were almost too deliberate. Elrond knew they were heading to Lindon, in a twisted, winded way. He feared a trap. The sky grew heavier and darker. There could not have been a worse day for his chase. Glorfindel by his side rode in silence, his jaw set.

When the first snowflakes started falling he muttered a curse, then an apology. "We should have ridden straight to Lindon to get help..."

"Nothing we can do now," Elrond replied. He too wondered if theirs was the best course of action. A thought of a worried Ereinion crossed his mind. Even if help was sent for them, they were far from the main road. No one would spot them. The snow fell heavier and the animals needed rest. It was absurd to be in this predicament so close to home. Elrond straightened his back.

"If we don't find them by sundown, we ride home."

A murmur of approval came from his men. They rode on, following the trail. At each step, Elrond was more convinced they were walking into a trap. The snow fell heavier and they rode closer to Lindon. Surely these Orcs knew they would be slaughtered. The snow fell heavier, covering the tracks but they went on, pacing slower, looking around. Tension garnered them silent and careful.

With a simple head movement, Glorfindel followed a forest trail on his left, taking a few warriors with him. Knowing too well what was on his friend's mind, Elrond kept with the remaining soldiers on the main forest path. They still had no sightings but they could smell stench of Orc in the cold air. A shiver ran down Elrond's spine just before he heard a branch breaking behind him.

He spun on the saddle, but an arrow through his shoulder knocked him back. His men hollered their battle cry, advancing to cover him and the other two injured warriors in the rear guard. Making an effort to duck the blows and regain his balance, he started pushing off the swarm of Orcs that surrounded them. He heard Glorfindel's cry of battle but it was all wrong - it came from too far, not closing in as expected. A brief survey confirmed that they had indeed been stupid enough to enter a trap - the Orc company was larger than they imagined, well-positioned and was heavily falling upon them.

The first horse went down, dragging his rider with him. Elrond barely had time to see his fate, trying as he was to hold the shield with his injured right arm and wielding the sword with his clumsy left. The fate of the scuffle was not set yet, but from what he could see, soon the Orcs would have the upper-hand. They barely had one warrior for each two Orcs and to make matters worse, there had been the surprise element offsetting any advantages elven skill and superior equipment could offer. Being on horseback was not an advantage - they were too close together on the narrow forest road to manoeuvre.

Despite the pain, Elrond continued dealing blows left and right. If he was to lose this battle and possibly his life, he was intent on causing as much damage as possible. The sounds of battle from Glorfindel's group faintly reached his ears: they approached, but were still entangled with their own attackers. His arm was dead cold; his mouth was sour and his vision dimmed. He tried not to think of poison spreading black tendrils within as he dealt another blow.

Cold and heat spread through his body in nauseating waves. The snow fell heavier, weighing down his good arm, suffocating him in a nefarious white blanket. In a flicker of lucidity he realized he was hallucinating. So quick, this venom. Black.

* * *

"What, in Mandos' name, were you thinking?" Gil-galad boomed for the fifth time.

Glorfindel sighed. He had known for hours that they were walking into a trap. Orcs did not wander idly through forest in the heart of Elven country. Elrond knew it too, but there was little they could do but follow the track before it disappeared and pray that they were enough to best the Orc band.

Explaining that to Gil-galad however was not that easy. Had anyone else been involved, Gil-galad would have found their reasoning plausible and commended them for putting themselves at the service of the realm. But with Elrond wandering between here and Mandos, Gil-galad found it hard to see reason and Glorfindel, tormented by guilt, did little to appease him.

"If Elrond dies, I swear..." Glorfindel heard the muttered threat again, as Gil-galad paced in front of the fireplace.

Elrond was his dearest friend and his self-appointed responsibility for that trip. There was nothing Gil-galad could do to him that he wouldn't take gladly if the worst came to pass.

There was one thing that he wanted to know: what was a company of Orcs doing in the heart of Lindon and how did they get there? Despite the prolonged peace under Gil-galad's rule, Orc raids were not terribly unusual in the borders of the kingdom, but they had not been more than seven miles from Lindon when they had attacked. For the most, Orcs were simple minded creatures. They took what they wanted and needed and destroyed the rest...unless. He swatted the thought away, but it kept returning as the chase continued. Orcs would behave with deliberation if someone sent them with a purpose. And that someone...could he be an old foe finally returned? Or did another shadow rise?

It was surprising, if understandable that Gil-galad had not asked these question himself. Too much had happened. It had been by sheer luck that Glorfindel still had a head on his shoulders and Elrond still breathed. They had decided to break the company in two groups to bait the attackers and gain some advantage, but apparently the Orcs had been expecting that. Cunning strategy was not their forte, but that was far from Glorfindel's mind as he fought the group he met. Fortunately, they had not been caught by surprise, but still they were delayed. They had caught up with Elrond's group as the Orcs bound the survivors. Another strange element. They were not known for appreciating live flesh any better than dead. Why keep prisoners who would give them trouble instead of corpses?

Gil-galad sat across from him muttering. Glorfindel was thankful for his ruler's timely, if out of character, intervention. He suspected the only reason that had lead Gil-galad out searching for their party was jealousy. Soon after Glorfindel's arrival in Lindon, Gil-galad's warmth had cooled significantly as his friendship with Elrond blossomed. The widely acknowledged fact that Glorfindel was not known to appreciate males did not seem to impress Gil-galad. After the initial shock of realisation, Glorfindel started to find it amusing. He never went too far but he had his fun provoking Gil-galad. A measure of respect and understanding has built between them, but both acknowledged their mutual dislike. Now the balance was broken and Gil-galad felt entitled to lash out.

Glorfindel sighed again. "Anything yet?" he asked, daring another furious diatribe.

"No. They are still working on them."

Glorfindel did not dare asking if he had meant the healers' work on the wounded, Elrond included, or the few Orc prisoners in the dungeons. Outside, the wind picked up and the snowfall had turned into a full blooded storm. He refused to imagine what would have happened if they were still in the woods, searching for a way home.

Gil-galad stopped pacing. "Listen, Elrond is stable for now, and we won't learn anything from those pieces of trash soon. Go bathe, eat and try to sleep. I'll send someone for you if there is news."

He did not look at Glorfindel as he spoke and Glorfindel did not try to protest. In his room a cold bath and a cold tray awaited him. He undressed slowly, checking for damage. His clothes were clotted with in blood, some his, most from the Orcs. They were irreparable. He set them on a pile to burn outside in the morning. A red blot on his silk undershirt reminded him of the slash on his arm. Fortunately, only the Orc arrows had been poisoned, but this still needed care. He sank into the water and let the grime dissolve. The only thing to do now was to wait.

* * *

The morning was colder than usual. Gil-galad could feel a draft coming from the window, even now that all the edges had been sealed. After the blizzard the temperature had dropped dramatically. One week of cold had been enough to cover every exterior surface in white. It had not been enough to break the wills of the Orc prisoners. By his will they would all be dead now, but his hand was stayed by the need to know.

All they had found was a conspicuous tattoo marking all of the beasts, and vague references to a lord. He had seen the symbol before and could think of only one lord who could inspire such fear. Mithrandir would soon return for his annual visit. He had sent messengers out to hasten him to Lindon in hope that he would have something to drag Elrond out of his sleep.

A soft knock on the door prompted a distracted "Enter" from his lips. Glorfindel peeked in, then entered timidly. Gil-galad signalled to sit by the bed next to him.

"One of the prisoners let something slip, not when we interrogated him, but later on in the cell," Glorfindel reported. "The guard overheard him saying something about this being a foolish quest for a token of power that was for another. The guard didn't understand it all - as you can imagine they were using the Black Speech. One of the other prisoners hit him and ordered him quiet."

"I was starting to suspect as much..." Gil-galad said. "A wild thought, of course..."

"What token of power would that be? We carried none...unless they meant to use us as bargaining chip."

"I think that was the plan, yes. You mentioned yourself that they were taking prisoners when you caught them..."

Glorfindel nodded. "You think their master is...surely not Sauron?"

"I suspect so. And I believe he travels these lands under another name and guise."

"I found it an odd coincidence that Annatar always manages to avoid me when I visit Ost-in-Edhil..."

"He knows you see more than most, yes. I fear for my cousin, despite that he is starting to show some sense of late."

A heavy pause ensued. Glorfindel rubbed his face in discomfort as he gazed at Elrond.

"No changes, eh?"

"Unconscious most of the time, slightly stronger. Sometimes I am not sure he recognizes me when he is awake."

"He is my best friend," Glorfindel continued. "I think you should know that there was never anything else on either part."

Gil-galad assented. "I know. I resented that you could spend more time together, that is all." He reached for the bed and squeezed Elrond's hand.

"What are you planning to do?" Glorfindel asked, trying to dissipate the awkwardness.

"I'm not sure yet. I cannot fight an enemy that is not in the open. This clumsy move of his...as soon as he knows it failed, he will also figure out that we know who is behind it. I sent messengers for Celebrimbor, Círdan and a few others. We have to be ready. It might take a few weeks, maybe a few months but we will hear from Annatar, as he calls himself. And it will not be good news."

"I feel responsible for this," Glorfindel's gaze returned to the bed, "but if you still trust me enough, I will be glad to help as I can."

After a few moments Gil-galad replied. "I would probably have done the same, and it was Elrond's decision as well. Your aid is welcomed."

"What do you think Annatar would want so badly from us?"

"You are entitled to know, I suppose. A token of power he cannot control." Gil-galad raised his hand, showing a ring with a sapphire that Glorfindel would have sworn was not there before. To elude him, it had to be of great power indeed. He lowered his eyes to Elrond.

"I see."

"He knows, of course," Gil-galad added needlessly.

They sat in silence, watching for Elrond to awaken. Now and then he sighed deeply in his death sleep. Glorfindel had seen those sighs often enough in the least week; he no longer hoped they meant anything.

He took hold of Elrond's hand and squeezed it gently. "I have to go, old friend," he whispered.

Elrond's lashes fluttered and a crackled moan left his throat.

"Water."

In one moment Gil-galad was by his side with a glass in his hand, holding it to his lips as he would a child.

"Better now?" he asked.

Elrond nodded, his half-open eyes set on Gil-galad.

"I thought you weren't returning to us," Gil-galad said with a tremor in his voice Glorfindel had not heard before.

Elrond faintly shook his head before taking another sip.

"Maybe the poison was too strong or maybe you were too tired of this all, and..."

"Sssh."

Profound relief washed over Glorfindel. Elrond was weak but alive. Feeling he was intruding in a private moment, he quietly moved for the door; he would be called when Elrond was stronger.

As he softly closed the door he heard Elrond's voice, firmer.

"Even if I now saw you only once, I would long for you through worlds, worlds."

He vowed to find such love for himself.

 

_Finis  
October 2006_


End file.
